


Texas is no fun

by Eurus91



Series: Summer Bingo [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Can Opener, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of torture, Nothing that has not happened in the canon on Mac, Worried!Jack, this time is not completely the fault of Mac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 03:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurus91/pseuds/Eurus91
Summary: Ended as a prisoner of El Noche Sancola, leader of a Mexican drug cartel, was not exactly in his plans.The story takes part in the #summerbingochallenge called on the hurt / comfort italia group - fanfiction & fanarthttps://www.facebook.com/groups/534054389951425/99. Agony





	Texas is no fun

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this is not written for profit, but for pure entertainment of mine and readers.
> 
> I don't have a beta. All the mistakes are mine. English is not my first language, please, if there are errors, let me know.

When you are a secret agent and work for an agency so secret that even the CIA knows or you need to know about its existence, being close to death is an experience that is repeated almost in a cyclical way.  
But if that agent is Angus MacGyver, twenty-five year old inclined to get into trouble, then having a close encounter with the death in almost every mission becomes inevitable.  
This was what Mac thought, while the trunk of the car, in which he had been forced, opened momentarily.  
Ended as a prisoner of El Noche Sancola, leader of a Mexican drug cartel, was not exactly in his plans, as he was not finding himself tied to a metal chair, in a villa located in an unspecified place in Texas (he hoped he was still in Texas ) after having escaped from prison and brought the head of the said sign, and disappeared from the radar of the Foundation.  
This mission was about to turn into Cairo 2.0 and is a reason for him and Jack never talks about Cairo.

Mac was still prepared for what would come next, not become an operative agent if not trained and he had been trained by the best agent he knew: Jack Dalton, professional sniper, ex DELTA, former CIA. It had not been pleasant, for neither of them, and known because, although it was never spoken openly, that the sight of Mac pleading with Jack to stop, sometimes resurfaced in his overwatch's mind when he lowered his guard and this only meant one thing: nightmares.

He knew very well that the thick layers of adhesive that kept his wrists nailed to the armrests of the chair, unnecessarily come off simply by tugging at them, but he is not busy trying. Again and again. His skin felt tender and burned and reddened.  
New bruises to add to the collection.

"I don't work for anyone. Not so what you're talking about. I was a prisoner, just like you. "  
Those phrases repeated mechanically as a response to the questions of El Noche, who was losing patience. Mac knew it and feared it.  
He was trained, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid.

When a cylinder with nitrogen and a mask entered his vision, he knew exactly what had been done disgusting the thing.

No training prepares you for this, you can know what is happening to you, but you cannot access your body to enter survival mode and try to break free.  
It was what was happening on a Mac, while the mask was forced against his face, his body was tense against the restrictions that kept him locked. His lungs craved oxygen, they burned angry when they got only pure nitrogen. He was suffocating and you will notice that he could do nothing to prevent it, coming like a bolt from the blue. Unpredictable in its predictability.

The funny thing, or at least Jack would find the story, was his brain that started to list all the consequences of breathing pure Nitrogen.  
He would not die, at least not immediately, he could save himself if Jack found him in time.  
Because Jack found it.  
A voice in his brain, suggested to him the possibility of Jack finding him and saving him, they were almost 1 in 100, so let's talk about it, he had used the position lights of the car and the alphabet morse to send a message while they were taking him to the villa. A message that had to be received by someone able to read it, and this someone had to be scrupulous enough to call the number in the message, Jack's number.

Too many variables and too little time.

The sight blurred and the waves dangerously in place.  
He struggled to breathe even though the mask was no longer pressed against his face and his lungs struggled desperately to fill up with oxygen

He was too tired to notice the hustle and bustle that echoed in the villa, the sound of the helicopter or of the men of El Noche who hastened to leave the room with guns in their hands.

Of the journey home, he remembered little or nothing.  
He remembers Jack's gentle voice, which forced a smile as he cut through the restrictions and he collapsed against his exhausted chest, recognizing him only by the familiar scent that was a mixture of Texas and gunpowder.  
He remembered Jack pleading with him, in a narrow sofa in an airplane, to hold his mask with oxygen, a touch so gentle compared to that of the men of El Noche.

"Mac, please."  
Jack's voice trembled slightly, while with a little strength he blocked his hands, to prevent him from tearing the IV and the mask.  
"Calm down Mac, breathe."  
"J-Jack." The weak voice.  
"Yes, it's me. I got you out."  
Mac nodded before collapsing again.

Nitrogen poisoning was treacherous.  
It made you feel elated, revved up, until you breathed too much. At that point your headache and nausea ruined your party.  
The memory of him practically vomiting on Jack's TAC shoes, flashed into his mind, forcing him to blush.  
The ex-Delta had not broken down, rather he had wrapped it with one arm supporting it, while with the free one he pushed away blond tufts from his pale, sweaty forehead, whispering reassuring words.  
A towel that appeared out of nowhere had been used to clean his dry lips.

All those fragments reached him all at once, leaving him confused and dazed.  
"Look who is back among us. Why are you with us a real prodigy?” Jack's voice exuded anxiety and concern.  
The War Room was pleasantly lighted and, unlike what it usually looked like, confusing and full of people, it was quiet and peaceful, a healthy touch for its headache.  
He nodded, ignore the purple and angry bruises that stood out on the diaphanous skin.  
"We should find a plausible excuse for Bozer. Friend those bruises make you think of wild nights. "

Mac didn't seem to mind Jack's allusion.

"What ... what happened?"  
"Where do you want Mac to start? From you escaping from prison with El Noche, passing through the part where you are tortured or...? "

Mac snorted.  
"Can you go directly to the part where you save me and go home?"  
"Suit yourself hoss, it will take a while."  
And Mac laughed. Probably that mission would have left some marks, in addition to the bruises, but nothing that a few weeks of therapy and Jack that settled in his house for a while not to lose sight of him, would not have fixed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment ♥️


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